


The Wanting Comes in Waves

by blak_cat



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:05:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blak_cat/pseuds/blak_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You take a pause and want to say no more, you want to open your mouth and say you can’t, that you shouldn’t, that it would be wholly wrong and wouldn’t solve anything because you do, still, desperately crave the possibility that she’s doing something, living for something beyond you. You want her to care for a world beyond the universe you two created. But in the face of losing her and losing everything else, it doesn’t seem to matter. For just one night you’ll be just as selfish as her. </p>
<p>A 'what-if' fic about Laura giving in during episode 27</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wanting Comes in Waves

_My head's underwater but I'm breathing fine, you're crazy and I'm out of my mind..._

\--

“Would you care?”

You’re not sure what shocks you more about that, the fact that she would have the audacity to ask or the possibility that you’ve been colder to her than you meant and somehow she believes she’s not worth your time. She’s always been surprisingly insecure and easily made jealous but this is something else entirely. 

“How could you say that?” you say because it’s the first of many possibly reactions that finds itself coming out of your mouth. “You think I hid you here after everything because I didn’t care? Because the thought of something happening to you doesn’t make me feel like I can’t breath?”

You should quit while you’re ahead before you say something you won’t be able to take back, something you won’t be able to play off, something you’ll have to edit out later.

“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel around you or what I’m supposed to do because—“

Because what?

You’re curious yourself about that one but Carmilla has other ways, perhaps, of getting the truth out as she pulled herself forward by the hook of her hand on your neck. And you leaned in yourself, closing the last few centimeters as your hand immediately went to her hair and buried there in the familiar tomb they knew well. 

God it was like nothing had changed. She’d surged forward, knowing you wouldn’t pull away, like she did months ago when you were wrapped up in each other in bed or the chaise lounge or on the roof. And everything about her was exactly the same, the smell, the feel, the give and take as you meshed yourselves together. She always went for your bottom lip and you let her. She favored a single hand at your neck to remind you that the rest of her was just as interested in touching you. 

And just as before, she pulls back, she always does. You wonder if it’s connected to the same part of her that’s scared and insecure and 18. She never assumes you want to truly be kissing her, in her mind you know she sees herself as a walking corpse or a leftover piece of something long dead. She certainly had heartbeat envy. 

So you chase her before you can tell yourself it’s a bad idea, anchoring your hand further into her hair and she sits still, letting you pull her as you will, move her as you will, use her as you will, love or hate her as you will. 

And it breaks your heart. She’d be a puppet for you if it made you happy, and plunged into the ocean for you, and faced a god for you. And yet she was the one who broke it off, the one who said and you think now maybe she regrets the one time she showed backbone to you and you don’t want her to regret it. You want her to fight you because god if everything that keeps the two of you apart isn’t the same reason you’re drawn together in the first place.

You take a pause and want to say no more, you want to open your mouth and say you can’t, that you shouldn’t, that it would be wholly wrong and wouldn’t solve anything because you do, still, desperately crave the possibility that she’s doing something, living for something beyond you. You want her to care for a world beyond the universe you two created. But in the face of losing her and losing everything else, it doesn’t seem to matter. For just one night you’ll be just as selfish as her. 

Maybe you’ll burn together, as lovers do. 

“Say what you want and I’ll do it,” Carmilla whispers against your lips and your eyes stay closed, your hands pull her closer. 

“I don’t know what I want,” you say. You want her to be everything you know she is inside, you want her to stay right where she is and never move but you also want to get her as far away as possible before you can’t turn back. You want to be at home, curled up in your own bed, but you want to be wherever she is. 

Carmilla drops her head and nuzzles her nose into your cheek and you try not to gasp. 

“Do you want to stop?” she offers.

Never. You never want to leave this room, you want to go back in time maybe and run away with her for a moment or two, you never want to forget the feel of her hands or the taste of her voice lingering on your own lips. 

“No,” you whisper truthfully. 

She nods but doesn’t make a move to kiss you again, simply staying put hovering near your face and you flutter your eyes open to see hers are still and closed and her eyebrows desperately knitted together. You caution a glance at her free hand and see the knuckles have gone white at the crown of her fist. 

So you kiss her again in the hopes of relieving her of something, stress or tension or guilt, whatever it is that’s got her shoulders so tight and her jaw so set. 

You move your hands down to the junction of her neck and rub, encouraging her to relax and, eventually, she begins to with a sigh. And just like old times you take advantage of the brief gap in her lips to do the one thing that will send this over the edge entirely. 

Your tongues meet for the first time in months and feel your whole body thank you for it. Growing up, the idea of sticking your tongue into someone else’s mouth seemed odd and unnecessary and a little bit silly. But oh how you understand it now as it works in a mind of its own, pushing against hers. It was another way to touch, another way to bond yourselves. 

That balled fist has now left the table and taken to perching on your thigh for a few seconds before it rubs up and down and eventually settles on your hip with a tug. Your knees bump before you get up entirely and place yourself in the familiar seat of her lap, legs to either side of her hips. Her hand at your neck joins the other on the opposite side and you find yourself pushing the leather jacket from her shoulders. She removes her hands just long enough to shrug it off before they return in force and begin kneading your hipbone with fervor. 

You keep your hands on her shoulders, massaging them into relaxation and she hums in appreciation. 

This wasn’t about lust or all the jokes your viewers made about how horny you two probably were. You didn’t want her like that. You didn’t want her naked and perfect contours and flawless nakedness. You wanted her as raw in front of you as you felt. You wanted to feel every part of her that you could because come sunrise you may never get the chance again. You want to remember that you’re the only one who gets to see her like that and feel her like that. 

“If you tell me to stop, I will,” she whispers. 

You shake your head. 

“We’re running away, for right now, we’re not here, there’s no fish god, or Greek turf wars, or revenge-bent barons,” you say. 

“Fucking like the world’s going to end isn’t exactly running away,” she says back, chancing her lips and teeth at your pulse point. 

“It’s not—fucking,” you say. 

You’re never one to romanticize sex and use lovey-dovey terms but this was making love if it ever was. She’s not growling in your ear, or bucking her hips up into you, or panting about how much she can _smell_ your desire. The world where you two did that was gone, perhaps. Her teeth and lips on your neck were gentle, not leaving a mark for the world to see or for her to admire. 

You let your hands slide down her chest gently until you met the end of the fabric and burrowed under, feeling her skin and relishing in the sensation of it pebbling into goosebumps from your fingertips. 

She continues to kiss your neck as you let your hands explore underneath her shirt, dancing patterns all over her stomach, reacquainting yourself with the feel of her abs, the jut of her hipbones. 

“Laura,” she breathes into your neck and it’s the first time she’s said your name since that day. And you’re done. 

You pull skyward and her black shirt is sliding off her with ease and tossed aside for another place and time. Your eyes fall on the small patch of paler skin knit amongst the rest, siting on the left side of her chest where once an arrow made its home. 

You lean forward, detaching her lips from your neck to kiss it and worship it because it will be with her forever. Silver scars wouldn’t fade with time and maybe 200 years from now she’d have a scar of your lips instead.

She lets you do that for a few moments before tucking her hands under your thighs and holding tight as she stood. You hooked your arms around her neck and felt her steps. You expected to drop down quickly onto the chaise lounge but when you open your eyes, you’re leaving the room entirely. She’s on the stairs and taking careful steps up not to drop you and to avoid the known creaky boards. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

She kisses you in response at the landing before taking more steps, using your back to nudge open a door and you’re back in your old room, the one you shared and the one neither of you would go near for weeks. Your back gently melts into the familiar mattress and a comforter that smells as close to home as you’ll ever get. 

She comes overtop of you, hands planted on either side to hold herself up. You prop up to your elbows and kiss her more as you remove your jacket and toss it as well. Her hands splay out on your stomach, digging to get beneath the hem of your shirt and pushing up until you match her. 

You make out more on the bed and let your hands wander and memorize each other before pants come off as well and the rest follows. All the only things she whispers in your ear as her hands move and you begin to shake is how you’re even more beautiful than she remembers and how much she misses you and even a mention or two of how sorry she is for what she is. 

You repay her words with efforts of your own and tell her you’ll fix things, that you’re going to survive, that you think about her everyday. And god do you want to tell her that you love her but in the throes of sex, on the eve of the ending of everything, it wouldn’t be right. So you show her over and over until she tells you she can’t take anymore. 

You lay together for a time after that, she’s curled into your side and shaking. You stroke her hair and keep your arms wrapped around her and your legs entwined. You think she almost falls asleep at one point as you watch her against your chest. She always liked listening to your heartbeat and your lungs at odd hours of the night when she was wide awake and you were well into your third dream. 

You hear shuffling downstairs and can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed at how obvious it looks with some of Carm’s clothes tossed to the living room floor and neither of you to be found. You need to get up, the world is back to try and take her away from you. 

She stirs from your nudging and groans but sits up nonetheless and you go in for one final kiss as the footsteps on the stairs get closer and soon there’s pounding on your door. 

“They’re playing our song,” she hums into your kiss. 

“We’re talking when all this is done,” she says. “Things aren’t perfect and we still have to—“

“Whatever you want beautiful,” Carmilla says, silencing her with an index finger to her lips. “But we need to finish what we started first.”

_Finish what we started._ In the beginning and the end it was always you two, the two who decided to push back at a god. The universe, the Old ones, the stars, whatever was up there owed you both this. Owed you this night, owed you a peaceful few minutes together. Carmilla’s life had never been fair as she forced into a world she never would have chosen but you have some control now. You chose the night and fate allowed it, if for a while, and now fate waited to take back what it gave. Your time is up.

_Who the hell cares about fair?_

**Author's Note:**

> I was having an existential crisis between two songs and I decided to include both, which, side note, "The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid" would make an amazing Carmilla/Dean duet song song from Carm's point of view so I might reuse for that at some point. Anyway, this is probably the closest to smut I've ever been willing to write (I've discussed my thoughts on smut writing before). Let me know if it lived up to expectations friends and thanks so much!
> 
> Title song: The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid -- The Decembrists 
> 
> Prologue lyrics song: All of Me -- Jasmine Thompson cover (seriously, check out her cover)


End file.
